


All the Classics

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Series: Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Oblivious, Teen Stans, flirt fail, old stans, these dumb boys, young stans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: "Are you flirting with me? "





	All the Classics

Stan’s poking something stinking and gelatinous with a stick, giggling at the horrible wet noises it makes. He shrieks in delight when his harassment finally upsets a crab that scuttles disgruntled from it's putrid shelter. Stan chases it, headless of the threatening claws and sharp rocks and sea-smooth glass. The crab escapes into a tide pool, sliding under the water without a ripple. Stan skids to a halt and trips, knees scraping. He cries out in alarm and he hears the scrambling of his brother rushing over to him.

“ Stan! Stan, are you okay?” Stan grumbles and looks up at his brother, Ford’s glasses large and comical on his round, red face, mouth set in a worried frown. Stan scrubs at his face, smearing dirt and sand and algae.

“‘ M fine,” he mumbles and stands, brushing sand roughly out of his knees.

“ You gotta be careful, Stanley,” Ford whines at him, anxious and..clutching a bunch of weeds.

“ What’s that?” Stan looks at the wilting plants crushed in his brother’s twelve fingers. Ford flushes.

“ O-oh, um they’re, um. Flowers.”

“ They look like weeds,” Stan frowns and leans in to see if there's anything interesting about them.

“ They’re not weeds!” Ford huffs, indignant, flush at war with his sunburn. “A-and! They’re f-for you.” Ford thrusts the bouquet at Stan’s chest. Stan grabs them and starts to examine them curiously.

“ What, they got some weird bug on ‘em?”

“ No! They’re...they’re just nice.” Stan looks at his brother, embarrassed and biting his lip. Hands folded behind his back.

“ ...ya think Ma would like ‘em?” Stan asks, looking the sad plants over again. Ford still looks pathetically crestfallen. “Hey, just ‘cause I don’t get yer fancy flowers don’t mean they ain’t special!” Stan tries and looks them over again; they’re shockingly yellow, mostly dandelions and some daisy-looking things.

“ Flowers have a lot of meanings.” Ford ventures, warming up.

“ I knew ya did ‘em for some nerd reason!” Stan crows and swings an arm over his brother’s shoulder. “Alright, tell me about ‘em.”

“ Well, the dandelions, even though most people think they’re weeds and want to get rid of them, are very important and represent absolute faithfulness.”

“ Don’t know what that means, Poindexter, but keep goin’.”

  
  


“ Do ya remember that, Ford?” Stan asks, sipping his coffee in the tiny galley. “Ford?”

“ Why, ah, why do you mention it?” Ford pours the powdered milk into his coffee.

“ Ford, you okay?” Stan makes to stand as Ford curses and grimaces at his tainted cup.

“ I’m fine! I just, what brought on that memory?” Ford clears his throat, taking a bold sip and scowling.

“ Nothin’ really,” Stan says slowly, easing his way back to sit, still eying his brother with concern. “Just thinkin’.”

“ Ah, well.” Ford seems to relax, suspiciously. “...would you like the rest of my coffee?”

  
  


“ Jesus Christ, Ford, the hell were you thinking!?” Stan chokes on acrid smoke billowing from the oven. Ford has the scorched pan soaking in the sink as Stan rushes to open every window they have, flapping the welcome mat madly at the air, flinging dirt and dust everywhere. Ford’s coughing, ugly deep sounds and gasping. “Get outside, ya knucklehead! I don’t wanna explain to Ma why she’s minus a Stan!” He growls and his brother shakes his head even as he stumbles out the back stoop and vomits. Stan swears colorfully, pulling his shirt up over his face. The material catches on his jagged braces but it keeps the worst of the smoke from knocking him on his ass. Eventually the air starts to clear but the smell lingers and Stan dreads explaining that to their parents. Ford finds his way back in, wiping at his mouth miserably.

“ Sorry,” he mumbles. Stan grunts and tosses the mat back to the front entryway.

“ Ah, don’t worry about it. You okay?” He puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Ford’s shame-flushed face gets redder.

“ I’m...I’m fine, just...” Ford bites his lip and then looks up at Stan with big, red eyes. “I just wanted to make something nice for you! With your orthodontics you can’t eat your, admittedly horrible, toffee peanuts and I thought, if I could replicate them in a manner that was easier for you to eat, then, maybe…” Ford trails off and scrubs at his eyes. Stan lets them both pretend it’s from the smoke.

“ Ford, ya know I ain’t gonna quit my favorite foods just ‘cause o’ some metal in my mouth.” Stan bares his teeth.

“ It was going to be a surprise.” Ford sulks.

“ Oh, it was a surprise!” Stan laughs, Ford scowls and crosses his arms in a huff. “Ah, come on, Sixer. It’s just a little fire.” He gives his brother a nudge. “Ain’t like I got burned or nothing.”

“ ...I suppose not.”

“ See, now, let’s start cleanin’ up before--”

“ What in the hell did you knuckleheads do?”

  
  


Stan barks a laugh.

“ Man, Pops was pissed.” Stan grins out at the sea. “Tanned my ass.”

“ ...I don’t know how you can smile about that.” Ford says softly, sadly and Stan looks at him with a frown.

“ It was funny.”

“ It really wasn’t, Stan.” Ford’s hands are tense around his pen and notepad, unnaturally still. Stan feels defensive and uncomfortable and suddenly the Arctic air is finding every microscopic space between the tight, double stitch of his jacket.

“ I’m gettin’ a drink.” He says, pushes abruptly from the railing. “Ya comin’?” Ford follows.

  
  


Stan doesn’t usually cry--it’s a waste of time. You either deal with your shit or ignore it. Feeling sorry for yourself falls under neither category. So, waste of time.

Doesn’t stop him from balling his eyes out into Ford’s sweater vest, sniffling and hiccuping like a baby.

“ A-a-and then everyone started laughing a-and I--” Stan gasps a breath, clutches his brother because his body is shaking. “I punched her brother!” He wails and hears Ford choke above him. Stan looks up, face a mess of snot and tears, and sees Ford failing to suppress laughter, shoulders under Stan’s hands shaking. “It’s not funny, Stanford!” He shoves his brother away and Ford is cackling now. Stan scrubs at his face, humiliated and furious. “Y-yer just an asshole!” He shouts. Ford’s laughter peters out to little chuckles and soft gasps.

“ I’m sorry, Stan, just...” He grins, “She turns you down and so you punch her brother? How was that supposed to make your case?” Ford asks, face a twist between fond and bewildered. Stan scowls and sniffs.

“ Not like I liked ‘er.” He mutters. “Just needed a date. She shoulda been flattered! Cow like her.”

“ Stanley!”

“ What? She’s a cow. Everyone says so.” Stan mutters darkly. Ford glares at him, perfected face of disappointment.

“ Stanley, that’s not nice. You know better,” Ford chides.

“ I’m not the only one,” Stan huffs. Ford scowls, crosses his arms, tucks his hands away. Stan gets the message. “Hey, it ain’t...I wouldn’t say somethin’ like that about you, ya know that.” Stan slides to knock shoulders with his brother.

“ It’s still mean,” Ford bends away from him. Stan scoffs but starts to feel guilty, damn Ford. He pries Ford’s arms apart, despite Ford’s tense, uncooperative stance. Stan grumbles at him until he has one of Ford’s hand in his, like they were kids.

“ You could go with me.” Stan almost misses Ford’s small, shy voice. He’s bright red and bashful as hell and it looks ridiculous.

“ What? You want me to bring you as my date?” Stan laughs and Ford gets impossibly redder.

“ Sorry, it was stupid, I--” Ford says fast and tries to pulls his hand free.

“ Hey, no it’s not...” Stan squeezes Ford’s hand, holding it fast.

“ Just, you don’t have a date,” Ford says, looking down. “And I don’t have a date and, uh, it’s not...cool...to go alone, right?”

“ Right.”

“ So, we should go...together.” Ford finally looks at Stan, shyly through his lashes. Stan feels his gut do a weird flip and ignores it.

“ I guess that makes sense,” Stan nods, smirking. Ford smiles back.

“ It’s just logical.”

  
  


Stan watches Ford make dinner; fish, damned fish again, but Ford has scraped up some stale spices and is doing his best. He’s set Stan up with a pre-dinner dram of whiskey--the good whiskey--and Stan is starting to get suspicious.

“ Oh, God, yer gonna use me as bait,” Stan says in dawning horror, looking down at the whiskey, wondering if he’s drunk enough to be drugged.

“ What, no! Why would you even--” Ford asks, scandalized and then yelps as the fish pops.

“ Then what’s with the spread?” Stan gestures to the food, drink, general atmosphere of domesticity. Ford looks over his shoulder, annoyed and wounded. “What?”

“ It’s our anniversary.” Ford says like it’s obvious and not nonsense. When Stan stares at him like he’s an idiot Ford huffs. “The voyage. It’s been a year.” Stan stares. And stares. And then smacks himself in the head.

“ Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry.” Stan groans, takes off his glasses to rubs at his eyes and curse.

“ It’s alright, Stan. You’re not always the most...observant of these things.” Ford sighs, flips the fish, and Stan watches the careful set of his shoulders, the tense little frown of his lips. And, yeah, Stan hasn’t been the most observant, but he’s got a brand new noggin’ and he starts thinking.

Flowers.

Baking.

Date.

Anniversary.

He makes the mistake of sipping his whiskey when he gasps and starts to choke, lungs on fire. Ford’s on him in an instant, worried hands and face and Stan wants to laugh and cry and he’d also like to breath again. Eventually he gulps down the water Ford places in front of him. And like a jackass he says:

“ You bee flirting with me!” Ford immediately recoils, bright red and sputtering.

“ W-what!? Stan, I--what are you saying--why would you?” He stumbles over himself and Stan watches, amused and confused.

“ Holy shit, ya have!” Stan crows, triumphant. Then his face falls. “Holy shit, Stanford, ya been...” Ford crosses his arms, hands tucked away.

“ It doesn’t mean anything, Stanley. Siblings...siblings can do things together that would appear...intimate to outside parties--”

“ Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Ford.” Stan cuts him off, it’s too painful to watch Ford try and explain his way out of this. Ford’s mouth clicks shut, jaw tense, gaze just over Stan’s shoulder. “Ford, the fish.” Ford nods and then jumps, rushing back to the teeny range to salvage the meal. Stan tosses back the rest of his whiskey. It’s not everyday your brother outs himself through your anniversary dinner. So Stan pours himself another dram and watches Ford tensely, quietly finish cooking.

Stan is surprised by how little discomfort he feels. It should be that finding yourself alone on a boat in the middle of the ocean with your, evidently, incestuous brother, would be uncomfortable but instead Stan finds himself pleasantly warm with whiskey and almost giddy with the sheer ridiculousness of it. Ford dishes out the food and stands, back to Stan, stiff.

“ Ya gonna jump my bones over the table?” Stan asks wryly and Ford immediately turns, indignant an horrified.

“Stanley , I would never--”

“ Then get your ass over here, I’m starvin’.” Stan taps the table and Ford hesitantly brings over the plates. The fish is burnt and the meal is awkward.

“ I understand if you’d like to leave once we make port.” Ford says, apropos to nothing. Stan groans, and not just at the fish.

“ Jesus Christ, Ford, if ya ain’t made a move in fifty years ya ain’t gonna.” Stan rolls his eyes. Ford looks confused and almost affronted.

“ I...if you’re implying that I was never...honest about my feelings, I made several romantic gestures!” Ford huffs. Stan pours them both more whiskey. He’s feeling pretty good, especially with Ford retreating behind the shield of a hissy fit.

“ A handful of weeds! And ya near burned the house down!” Stan says and Ford makes a strangled noise.

“ I was a child, the sentiment was implied!” Ford grumbles. Stan smirks and leans forward, pushing his plate out of the way.

“ That’s right. We was kids, Sixer,” he rumbles and part of his brain is screaming at him and he sees that same startled look reflected in Ford’s eyes. “Ya know how big boys do it?” Ford’s face spasms between suspicious, intrigued, bewildered.

“ Stanley, what are you doing?” Stan takes a last gulp of his whiskey and stands, liquor loose as he sways. Ford turns to face him when Stanley stands beside his chair. He leans in close, one hand on the chair’s back, thumb grazing Ford’s shoulders.

“ When big boys see something they want--”

“ Stanley--”

“ \--they do something about it.” Stan grabs Ford’s face with one hand, it lands a little harder than it should, but Ford’s sideburns feel glorious between his fingers and he wonders how he never thought to do this before. Before Ford can wise up and start thinking, Stan leans down and kisses him, rough and sloppy; inelegant but Ford grunts, mouth falling slack and Stan decides to see if he can taste whiskey on Ford’s tongue. He gets mostly fish. Ford moans, hands fisting in Stan’s shirt before he roughly pushes him away. Stan stumbles back, clumsy and laughing. Ford stares at him, cheeks red and mouth spit slick. Stan wants to kiss him again.

“ Stan, you’re drunk,” Ford sighs like he disappointed and Stan thinks about it.

“ Maybe,” he says.

“ I won’t...” Ford starts, stalls. “I can’t.” He finishes. Stan nods.

“ Alright,” it’s not alright, but he can handle it. “But,” he adds, because he’s a salesman and a con. “You tell me next time yer tryin’ ta flirt with me.” Ford frowns, mouth opens, Stan pushes on. “Who knows, silver fox like you? Might get lucky.” Ford shakes his head with a confused but fond smile.

“ Stanley Pines, are you flirting with me?”


End file.
